


hear all the bombs fade away

by evocativecomma



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Disabled Character, Light Perc'ahlia, hard of hearing character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 04:23:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13356411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evocativecomma/pseuds/evocativecomma
Summary: At first, it's not a consequence he thinks about. More often than not, firing a high-powered rifle knocks him flat on his ass, or burns his hand, or the kick-back of the stock leaves a hefty bruise in the curve of his shoulder—all negligible things, really, and quickly enough recovered from.Once he begins to suspect, though, he brushes it off like so much dust; after all, how long could he possibly survive in service of this mad quest for revenge?





	hear all the bombs fade away

In the end it is, appropriately enough, Bad News.

///

At first, it's not a consequence he thinks about. More often than not, firing a high-powered rifle knocks him flat on his ass, or burns his hand, or the kick-back of the stock leaves a hefty bruise in the curve of his shoulder—all negligible things, really, and quickly enough recovered from.

Once he begins to suspect, though, he brushes it off like so much dust; after all, how long could he possibly survive in service of this mad quest for revenge?

///

He's listening to the ebb and flow of the party's conversation over the campfire, a day's lazy marching outside of Vasselheim, letting their presence wash over him in the glow of the flickering light when they all burst into roaring laughter simultaneously. The ground shakes as Grog collapses backwards, and the twins crumple onto each other, everyone dissolving into helpless fits of giggles. Percy freezes, every muscle tense as he jerks his head up, eyes darting frantically side to side.

Keyleth, gulping in huge gasping breaths, somehow still manages to look gentle and concerned as she lays a hand on his arm. "Hey, Percy, you alright?"

He shakes his head, trying to clear the sound of crashing waves from his ears. His heart begins to slow. "Just caught me by surprise is all. All the noise, I mean."

Her brow furrows slightly, and Percy reaches up to smooth out the wrinkles with his thumb. "It took Scanlan ten minutes to set up that joke, didn't you notice?"

Percy shrugs. "Must've been lulled into a trance by the fire, I suppose."

It's true enough. He's been staring into the fire all night, half paying attention to the stories flying around the circle and letting his mind wander. Opposite him, the twins sit with their knees pressed together; earlier, they'd recounted a caper in Westruun a few years ago involving a fish stall, a cabbage stand, and a half-grown Trinket—Vex gesticulating wildly the whole time, Vax interrupting with louder and louder embellishments as the story went on. Between them and Keyleth, Grog had recounted a tale of his repeatedly throwing Pike up into fruit trees when they were younger, catching the treasure she threw down in a sack until he had to scoop her up in his arms and run from approaching orchard keepers threatening them with rakes and other various tools.

Keyleth had been mostly silent, leaning heavily on his left shoulder and occasionally adding in disbelieving exclamations and laughter. On the twins' other side, Tiberius had mumbled his way through something about the mechanics of the mending wheel, or maybe a Draconian scone recipe. Directly to his right, Scanlan…

But what had Scanlan been talking about? Despite his lack of complete focus, if Percy concentrates he can rifle through every word they'd tossed back and forth across the fire—Tiberius's speech is more difficult, sure, but isn't it always? He mumbles and meanders through his sentences, and if even he gets lost navigating between clauses and full stops, it can hardly be the listener's fault if they can't recreate the journey themselves.

Scanlan, though. Scanlan's speech is clear and direct; he's a performer, and he draws the eye and mind to him with every word. Percy can track the familiar rhythm of his voice through its patterns, can even call to mind flashy hand gestures caught in the corner of his eye, but no matter how hard he presses he can't find the _words_. Impressions of phrases, educated guesses, snatches of clarity here and there, but he can't for the life of him put it all together in a way that makes sense.

He shakes his head again, trying to recall anything out of the ordinary in recent days (particularly blows to the head), but all he can come up with is the unearthly roar of the white dragon Rimefang after he'd gotten in a few good shots with Bad News—

_Oh._

///

See, the thing is, his pepperbox may actually be louder than Bad News, what with its wider barrel, penchant for being fired in close spaces, and the added effects of his alchemical tinkering. But then again, there is the rifle, pressed into the joint of his right shoulder, his head tipped just so to properly sight, all of it so _close_ —

///

He's been in his workshop for—honestly, he can't remember how many days. A few, probably. Most likely an unusual amount, especially considering they've started leaving trays outside the door; he eats a few mouthfuls and burns the rest before he puts the trays back. No need to worry them, at least.

It's just the damned _ringing_. 

Well, no, really it's the Briarwoods, their presence in the city like tar coating the back of his throat, their voices echoing in his ear, they'd been right _there_ , across the table from him, perfectly in the sights of his gun, vanished from his reach, leaving only the sickening _crunch-thud_ of the arrow. The arrow hitting Cassandra in the chest, her body falling in the snow,

the arrows

her body

the snow

the arrows

her body

the arrows

_Cassandra—_

So it's the ringing in his ears, of course, that's keeping him here in the workshop, where the white noise of the forge and the strange music of his tinkering give him something else to listen to.

///

The keep's shrine to Sarenrae is so often empty with Pike across the sea. It's not like they don't all know that Grog sleeps here nearly every other night, wrapped up in the blanket he made her since she hadn't had a chance to take with her, framed in the gaze of the Everlight looking down through the stained glass window. It's the only place any of them can really feel Pike's presence.

It's damned quiet, and that makes the ringing in his ears seem even louder; as if he wasn't profane enough, now he's marring the hushed reverence of this sacred place. Even if no one else hears it, Sarenrae probably does, and they both know he doesn't belong here. He's too broken, and now he's broken himself in a new way.

It's not even that he thinks she could do anything about it—Pike, not her goddess. He just _misses_ her, and she's the first thing he's allowed himself to miss in a long time.

Something brushes his right shoulder, and he flinches, already turning and reaching under his coat before he remembers that he doesn't have his gun—because even he wouldn't bring something like that into this place. He finds himself facing Keyleth, anyway, looking startled and concerned in that way that makes his throat tight. "Oh," he says, "hello, Kiki." He moves over to make room for her, turning almost sideways on the bench so he can see her face and catch her voice in both ears.

"Are you alright, Percy?" She looks down at her twisting hands, fingernails dark with earth, but he sees the wry curve of her mouth. "I feel like I've asked you that a lot lately."

"You have. I can't say I'm used to being asked, really."

"I can tell—you never answer."

"I—"

"'I'm fine' doesn't count, Percy, and I think you know it as well as I do." She stares him straight in the eye with such obvious care that he has to look away.

He studies the stained glass window. How exactly does one just come out and say, _The people who tortured and murdered my family and tortured me have suddenly come back into my life, and oh, in addition, I may have deprived myself of a good portion of the hearing in my right ear_? Not that she doesn't know the first part already.

He straightens on the bench and lets her rest her head on his shoulder, leaning his head against her in return and giving her the only honest answer he can manage at the moment. "I miss Pike."

///

Winter's Crest is all blue and silver, the skies above Whitestone clear. Even after a few weeks of recovery, most of the town still can't stomach being out after dark, so at sunset Keeper Yennen announces the close of the official festivities and the crowds retire to their hearths and families. The newly liberated Whitestone Castle has seen its share of cleaning and purifying and restoration since their victory; while there are plenty of rooms and beds for the entire group and then some, true nightfall finds Vox Machina sprawled together on the floor of one of the minor ballrooms.

They ("they" being Grog) managed to carry in a handful of old couches and chaise longues, plus some extra feather beds and plenty of blankets, scattering them in front of the fire. Cassandra had fallen asleep the moment her head touched the pillow, her neck bent strangely against the arm of the sofa, one hand tangled in Trinket's fur; careful to lay still and not disturb her, the bear had followed her into slumber soon after. Keyleth lay asleep in Grog's lap, snoring softly; though distracted by whatever tale Scanlan is whispering furiously to him, the goliath reserves enough attention to gently stroke the flowing river of Keyleth's hair.

Wrapped in the same blanket, Vex and Vax have begun to melt into a single being, both reluctant to leave the other's side. Vex is wreathed in the golden brightness of the leaping flames to her right, while on her other side Vax is slightly shadowed, his face obscured by her hair where he leans his head on her shoulder.

Percy watches the flickering light wash over Vex's face, barely focused. Where he leans on Trinket's side, every deep breath rocks him back and forth in a steady rhythm; the crackling fire blends with Scanlan and Grog's murmured conversation, Keyleth's gentle snores, and the howling wind outside. Under it all, the ringing in Percy's ears fades to a manageable white noise, and the tension he's been carrying in his neck for weeks begins to melt away. The flash of Vex's sharp grin in the firelight catches his attention, and the blurred lines of her features come into focus.

_—still can't believe you did that, you ass—_

He knows the words on her lips before he realizes she's just too far away for him to have _heard_ them.

His lip-reading had been a little rusty when they'd found him in that cell in Stillben—a useful enough tool for retrieving information, but one requiring too much finesse for his early mad dash towards Ripley and revenge. Lady Johanna had been shocked when she discovered that he and Vesper had taught themselves by watching the gossips in the theater, but both of them had seen the proud tilt of their mother's head as she lectured them sternly on how inappropriate a skill the reading of lips was, especially for members of the nobility. Percy has been practicing more in Vex's company, trying to make himself proficient again, trying to be useful or impressive or…anything, really. Anything to break the tunnel vision of his self-destructive quest, anything to keep that piece of Vesper alive in his heart.

It is, of course, the only reason he finds his attention fixed on her lips at odd moments: to catch the words rolling from them. Of course.

Vax's reply is muffled by his sister's shoulder, but Percy catches Vex's next words perfectly: _If you ever do that again, brother, I will tear off your arms and beat you to death with them_.

Percy can't help it—he laughs. He tries at the last second to convert the snort into a cough, but Vex's head shoots up and she meets his eye immediately. Percy feels himself flushing as her eyes narrow, and he turns his face aside as quickly as possible. She and Vax fall silent after that, but Percy feels her gaze burning a hole in him long after the room is blanketed in hushed silence.

///

He's tinkering in his workshop in Greyskull Keep only a few days after Winter's Crest when the door creaks open and Vex slinks through, hopping up to perch on the edge of his worktable.

"You didn't tell me you could read lips, Percival."

Percy turns abruptly from his drafting and moves to the opposite side of the room, keeping his left side toward her as the back of his neck flushes violently. "You never asked."

She hums thoughtfully. "Fair. Still, I can't help but wonder what other interesting talents you might be hiding." Her eyes travel slowly from his glasses to his boots, and Percy wonders if it's possible to combust from embarrassment—he may become the first case study in a matter of moments.

"Who says I'm hiding anything?" He turns back to her with Ripley's pistol in his hands, in several pieces. Percy carefully measures each step he takes back to the worktable.

For a moment, he thinks the conversation may be over, that he might just get lucky and she'll leave him be, but he really should know better by now. "Your earring is on the left now."

"I thought it was more flattering."

"So you admit to moving it?"

"You'd already noticed as much."

"Did Pike do it for you?"

"I did it myself."

"Seems an awful lot of effort to me."

"Is there a point to this, Vex?" It comes out sharper than he'd intended, and damnit, she flinches so subtly that someone else might miss it.

She smooths over it almost instantly though, leaning over and laying one hand gently on his arm. "You know you can trust me, right, Percy? All of us. You can trust us. Even if it's something awful, even if you think it's a weakness—gods, Percy, I hope that after all the bullshit we've just been through, you know that you can trust us to protect you. It's what families do, and I'm—we're your family."

Percy drops heavily into his chair, and even in the heat of the room he can feel the place where her hand rested like a brand; the loss of that comforting touch aches, but Vex only folds her hands in her lap and waits for him to speak. "I never thought it was going to matter," he says finally. "Consequences, side effects, that sort of thing. And now it does matter, and it seems as though I've broken something that can't be fixed. Just one more thing I've lost, I suppose."

"What do you mean, Percy? What's wrong?"

Gods, he can't stand the raw concern in her voice. "I've done something to my ear, it seems." He gestures lazily to his right ear. "And now I can't hear properly. Loud sounds are fine: explosions, shouting, Grog—I don't think I could ever deafen myself to Grog—but smaller things I miss. If I'm turned away or someone approaches from that side, it's muddied, and sometimes I miss it completely."

Thoughtful silence. Percy knows that she must have clearly telegraphed her movements on purpose, because he's seen her kill a man with less warning, but he's still taken aback by the blow when in comes. It's not particularly forceful by any means, but she lands a solid slap to his shoulder regardless. It takes him several seconds to react, reaching up to rub at it ruefully.

"Percival Frederickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the third, you utter imbecile!"

For a moment, all he can do is stare at her open-mouthed. "I— What—"

"Do you have any idea the danger you put yourself in? And what about the rest of us? What if you're guarding our flank? What then? What happens when you're bringing up the rear and you get yourself murdered because some jackass gets a lucky shot in on your bad side? Not only are we open to attack, you're fucking _dead_. Dead, Percival. Did you think about the fact that we should fucking know this to keep you _safe_?"

Percy blinks slowly. "I—"

"Of course you didn't! If you think I'm going to let you die because you're a fucking idiot, you've got another thing coming, Percival." Vex points at him menacingly, and Percy manages a solemn nod in response. "Good," she says. "Now that we've got that out of the way, how are my exploding arrows coming?"

///

_You have always been broken._

He's not sure if he's imagining it or not, but the Raven Queen's words seem to curl in through his right ear; they feel strangely heavy, reminding him of this piece of himself he's broken all on his own. He resists the urge to shake his head, to push away her words like a dog shaking off water. They settle in his chest like weights, and he wonders if he'll be able to swim to the surface of this strange realm.

Later, Vex tells him there is blood behind his ear, and it's all he can do not to laugh.

///

It's worse after the Isle of Glass. After death, he supposes. After untold hours of Orthax's voice in his ear, the pervasive hiss and groan of whatever dark place he'd been for so long. It hadn't been the comforting white noise of his forge, of nights spent around the fire with the rest of Vox Machina. The sounds had forced pressure into his ears until he felt as though he might burst, and then they'd stopped just to start all over again.

Her voice drowned it all out, of course. Of course.

 _I should have told you_ , she said, and that whisper filled him until there was no room for anything else. _It's yours._

Waking in the warmth of Sarenrae's temple had been a shock unlike any in his life, and for all his attempted cogency and gratitude, he had felt as though he was engaging with the world from the bottom of a lake.

Now, though, the world has lost its muffled quality and the ringing permeates his waking hours almost constantly. He abandons his bedroom in the castle in favor of the cot in his workshop; the flames of furnace and forge help to drown it all out somewhat, and if he still can't sleep, at least he has something to occupy him.

///

Delilah Briarwood draws his focus like a magnet, everything else falling away until they are the only two things in the ruined city of Thar Amphala. Bad News is cradled in the crook of his shoulder, steadied against the rocking rattle of the titan's steps; she is once again in his sights. Percy holds his breath. His finger begins to tighten on the trigger.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It's the slightest displacement of air, but he spins immediately, letting the rifle fall and reaching for his rapier—too slowly, as the cultist who'd approached from behind and to the right swings a jagged knife toward Percy's heart.

The air leaves the cultist's throat in a choking gurgle as Vax appears in an instant at his back, Whisper lodged deep in his neck. In the next moment, Vax ducks as Grog spins towards them, effortlessly using his momentum to swing his flaming warhammer down upon the man's head. He collapses into a jellied heap on the ground and Grog turns his feral grin toward Percy.

"Do watch your back please, Freddie," Vax says, snapping out his wings and shooting up like a bullet for the skeletal dragon's eyes.

"I've got it for you," Grog says, positioning himself back-to-back with Percy. "Do what you do best, Percy, and kill that witch for good this time."

Percy can only nod, tucking his right side against the wall Grog provides and taking aim again.

///

Sunset in Whitestone fills Percy with contentment; the light gilds the leaves of the Sun Tree as it descends toward the horizon, the whole city painted in shades of gold and fuchsia and violet. Through the open window, he can hear Vex drilling her new batch of rangers on survival techniques and critical information about common predators of the Parchwood. From down the hall comes the delighted squealing and shrieking that heralds bath time for Freddie and Elaina.

In his right ear, the ringing intensifies, but Percy focuses through it, dropping a gear into place with steady fingers. By the time he's making the last few adjustments with a screwdriver, the sound has faded again, down to the low background hum he's become accustomed to after all this time. He slides a glass panel into place and straightens at his desk.

Percy leans in close, pressing his ear to the belly of the clock he's just finished, and listens to it tick away the seconds.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a headcanon that my good good friend Lex and I have been talking about lately.
> 
> Though I've had my share of hearing problems in the past, I am not hard of hearing; I have done research into noise-induced hearing loss for this, but if there are errors here or I have been disrespectful, please let me know. (I also want to make clear that I in no way see disability as a form of brokenness; I am a disabled person myself and I find that viewpoint incredibly offensive, but it's made clear that Percy sees himself as a broken person whose every mistake does more damage, and I approached writing him from that point of view.)
> 
> Feel free to come find me on [tumblr](http://shootthewendybird.tumblr.com)! There, in the case that you're interested in helping me feed my dog, you might also find a button I've been told not to mention on this site but which I would be overcome with love and joy if you felt inclined to follow where it leads.
> 
> Title from "Sons and Daughters" by The Decemberists.


End file.
